


orange

by Bekka911



Series: watercolour paints [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Ahsoka has bad dreams, Bad Dreams, DON'T SHIP HER WITH ANAKIN OR OBI-WAN OR I'LL EAT YOUR KNEECAPS, Discussions of lightsaber techniques, Found Family, Hurt Ahsoka Tano, Hurt/Comfort, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Obi-Wan is a good dad, Platonic Relationships, Protective Anakin Skywalker, The end gets a little violent, and her family comforts her, look - Freeform, so is anakin, this is somehow worse than my first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bekka911/pseuds/Bekka911
Summary: “And often, our dreams are manifestations of a deeper anxiety. Are you afraid of dying, Ahsoka?”.“Sometimes bad dreams are just bad dreams, but bad dreams can do bad things to good people.”.“Do you ever dream, Master?” She asks hesitantly, tangling her hand in their bond in an attempt to monitor every small fluctuation in Obi-Wan’s emotions. She can learn from this.Except Obi-Wan doesn’t hide from her. Bleak amusement, stitched together with some sort of dark misery, filters through to her. “Ahsoka, my dear, everybody dreams.” Obi-Wan’s voice is flat. “It’s simply a matter of who remembers.”
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano
Series: watercolour paints [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814266
Comments: 20
Kudos: 218





	orange

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! Here's another one that is somehow worse than the first. I really don't know what I'm doing with this fandom, I'm sorry. If something's wrong or off, let me know and I'll do my absolute best to fix it.  
> Beware the ending, it gets a little bit graphic.  
> IF YOU COME INTO MY COMMENTS AND SHIP ANAKIN/AHSOKA OR OBI-WAN/AHSOKA I WILL FIND YOU AND CRUNCH ON YOUR BONES LIKE GLASS I WILL HAVE NONE OF THAT HERE SHE IS A C H I L D
> 
> Leave your thoughts in the comments!

It takes a terribly long time, but eventually, Ahsoka wakes up.

It’s perhaps a miracle - she opens her eyes without a fuss, as cool and steady as ever - and she’s in her bed in her room on Coruscant. The sheets are cool on whatever stretches of her skin are exposed to them, and she kicks her legs slightly as she sits up. The fabric glides over her, slippery and almost too-sensory.

She’s not afraid anymore, but her heart still pounds - an action that is a stark contrast to how still the rest of her body is. Adrenaline races through her veins, scorching her chest and tangling itself in the training bond she shares with Anakin. She brushes up against her Master’s shields as gently as she can. He’s sleeping.

She’d been sleeping too, until she’d died. 

She can feel the phantom dirt particles itch on her skin and the taste of dust lingers on her tongue. Her chest compresses itself. It’s dark. The memory of being buried alive lingers like a ghost, draped across her muscles and her bones in a way that an old friend might drape across furniture.

A bad dream only, not a vision. It’s hard to tell these days whether the Force is sending her a warning or she’s simply at the mercy of her own imaginings. There’s one main difference she can find, and she clings to that knowledge whenever her mind deems it necessary to plunge her into the nightmares.

Her dreams are colourless and monochrome. Details are blurred, her eyes unfocused. Her nightmares are more about her other senses, like smell and touch and taste. And emotions. And pain. Everything else is _heightened_ , and she’s left fearing death in every shade of grey.

(Her Force visions are bright and colourful and specific. Her touch is muted and dull. She sees, but she cannot feel. How she longs for such naivety when the shadows reach for her at night.)

This time, when she sits in her bed with invisible dirt smeared on her tangerine skin, she wonders if anything is real at all. Perhaps she _had_ been trapped, and nobody had come for her, and she’d died. Perhaps this is heaven. It’s more than she deserves, she knows, but she can’t help but feel so selfishly relieved at the thought of peace for the rest of time.

Something twitches in her chest as Anakin stirs. He’s waking up, but he’s waking up reluctantly, like something is forcing him out of his slumber. Ahsoka runs a soft finger down the bond, realising with a start that she’d been remiss with her shields. Her emotions are loud and crystal clear.

She’s been shouting at her Master ever since she woke up. 

Their connection trembles under her hesitant touch, absorbing her guilt and regret and panic, and amplifying it, flinging it at Anakin’s shields until her Master has abandoned his own mild dreaming and turns his attention inwards, to her.

 _‘Snips?’_ Anakin sends a tentative inquiry, tinged with the drag of sleep. Ah, so he’s not fully awake yet; he’s just conscious enough to understand that something’s happened. _‘Are you okay? What’s happening?’_

She stops coddling the bond, but it still resonates and echoes her rampant emotions. She winces. How very un-Jedi of her. _‘Nothing,’_ she sends back quietly. _‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’_

It’s real, it’s real, it’s real.

She’s been remiss in her practices, Ahsoka understands that. Her shields have thinned far too much, relaxing under a blanket of false security. Something as simple as a rash of vivid nightmares shouldn’t be able to shake her mental barriers so much that Anakin can be woken with the remnants of whatever emotions she’s suffering through. If she can’t manage a simple thing like that, what good is she as a Padawan?

The night air is cool on her face and shoulders, and she shivers, laying back down and tugging the covers back up to her neck, feeling oddly like a child again. She should meditate, that’s the Jedi thing to do, and it may do well to work through her latest dream, but she finds that surrendering the warmth she’s cocooned herself in is too hard. It’s too cold and her room is so big and so empty. 

Ahsoka cannot meditate tonight - she’ll suffocate in an entirely different way.

Anakin, more alert now, presses through the bond again. _‘Snips?’_ She tightens her shields, feeling guilt claw its way up her throat and taint her mouth with the taste of ash. She hadn’t meant to cause such a stir. _‘Ahsoka.’_

 _‘It was just a bad dream,’_ she soothes, desperately sorting through her ruptured emotions until she finds something that resembles calm. She shoves the tattered, tangled emotion down the bond, forcing it through Anakin’s thinned shields. 

He accepts it, but dubiously. She hasn’t convinced him yet - she’s really only made it worse. Her Master is so prone to worrying. She’d just wanted to ease his mind. _‘It was more than that. Ahsoka, what’s wrong?’_

 _‘Not tonight.’_ She’s not above pleading, and can feel the desperation start to bubble up in her chest and creep along the bond, oozing out from behind her shields. She can’t talk to him about it yet, not until she’s able to wipe away the phantom dirt that stains her skin. _‘I’m not hurt. Can we leave this until tomorrow? I’m tired.’_

She can sense that Anakin wants to protest. His frustration swells, triggered by his own unanswered concerns and Ahsoka’s unusual insistence on _not talking about it_. Both of them understand that the young Togruta is a private girl who likes to keep a lot to herself, but there are lines that Anakin insists she let him cross, and this is one of them.

But she won’t talk about it now. She won’t talk about it tomorrow either, but she’s well aware of the fact that Anakin won’t leave her alone unless she makes some sort of compromise. Anakin doesn’t need to know that she won’t tell him. By the time he asks her about it face-to-face she’ll have some kind of story to feed him, and then they can all go on their way.

The bond twangs with Anakin’s reluctant acceptance, and then it settles inside her as her Master prepares for sleep once more. Guilt rumbles in her torso, squeezing her ribs and putting a sickening amount of pressure on her lungs. She’s being a nuisance. Padawans are supposed to respect and support their Masters, not wake them up in the middle of the night because of a bad dream.

That’s all this is. A bad dream.

Realistically, Ahsoka knows that Anakin doesn’t care about those sorts of rules. He doesn’t care that the Council frowns on such strong attachments, such intense partnerships. Ahsoka also understands that the Council has already given up a lot of ground for her Master. It's not likely they’ll turn a blind eye to this transgression as well.

(It’s hard, though, to shove it all back behind her shields and ignore it. Master Obi-Wan always says to work through it and let it go, but Ahsoka is still a young girl despite her best efforts, and can’t always bear to look a monster in the face and be unafraid.)

She watches the night pass with quiet discontent, and when dawn arrives, the chill still hasn’t left her body. The blankets over and around her feel weighted and warm - she can feel the heat pressing uselessly at her skin - but there is a coldness that radiates from her very bones that isn’t so easily swayed by the hopefulness of the physical world. She buries herself further under the covers. 

The Force around her is humming this morning; it’s a song that’s familiar and sad. Ahsoka has always thought that the Force’s tune is more bitter than sweet. Perhaps it's the horrors of knowing what will soon be and what will never come to pass. How heavy a weight it must be to favour a certain path, only to have your charges make all the wrong choices.

What a burden it has to be, to watch everything you’ve ever loved completely fall apart.

She reaches out half-heartedly, offering up a small slice of her presence and opening herself up. The Force trills at her tribute and coils around her energy, the song burrowing inside her innermost shields and dampening that razor-sharp fears that have plagued her ever since the first particle of dream-dirt had passed her lips.

She knows that telling anybody about her latest flood of dreams is pointless. The Council only cares if it’s a premonition, and everybody else simply... doesn’t care. Dreams have to mean something, or they’re nothing. And her dreams mean nothing. Well, they reek of death and decay, but that does not give something meaning, and thus Ahsoka does not consider her dreams to be messages.

Regardless, the impression she gets from the other Jedi Masters is that dreams are a sign of weakness. If a Padawan can’t control their own subconscious, then they can’t be expected to control anything else, like the Force.

Ahsoka doesn’t want to be weak. If she’s weak, then the Jedi Council won’t keep her. Everything that everyone’s ever said about her being too young and too soft will come true, and she’ll be taken away from Anakin and Obi-Wan, and she’ll lose everything she’s fought to gain.

The Force warbles slightly as the bond between her and Anakin shakes to life, waking up with her Master. Ahsoka extends a morning greeting, and Anakin responds in kind, his familiar warmth soaking the bond as his energy reaches for her own. 

_‘Did you go back to sleep last night, Snips?’_

Her first instinct is to lie. She doesn’t want to worry him again, doesn’t want to confess to her own inabilities. Her own shortcomings. She knows what Anakin’s disappointment feels like. She doesn’t want to let him down again.

But she can’t _not_ tell him the truth. Her Master has an uncanny ability to sense when she’s being untruthful, and she has a feeling that when her lies _do_ go unchallenged it’s only because Anakin trusts her enough not to push for the proper answer. She doubts that now will be one of those times, given that she can feel his concern start to build the longer she takes to answer. 

Checking her shields one last time, she sends back, _‘I meditated.’_

A half-truth. She hadn’t meditated, not really, but she’d done her best to keep her mind quiet and her senses open, basking in the sound of her own steady breathing and the knowledge that life in Coruscant went on just beyond her blacked-out windows. So no, not meditation, but a semblance of peace.

_‘That’s not the same thing.’_

_‘I know.’_

Anakin’s presence goes quiet, so Ahsoka tightens her shields until it hurts and slowly rolls the bed covers back. The cold comes charging for her exposed skin, burrowing its way under her clothes until she’s swamped with doubt that she’ll ever be warm again. Her fingers quiver in front of her face as she gently eases herself out of bed and pads straight into the ‘fresher, ducking into the shower with the hopes of chasing away the chill.

Even with the water at the hottest temperature she can make it, her body is still wracked with shivers, and her knees ache. She’s cold, cold, cold, and she shouldn’t be. 

She doesn’t linger, despite the gentle tug in her navel that whispers for her to stay here, where water droplets make suicide runs down her arms and the world seems so far away. She gets dressed reluctantly but quickly, opting for the unusual choice of a knitted cream jumper and heavy black pants, unable to bear the thought of wearing something less warm.

If she’s lucky, the simple explanation of, “I’m cold”, will satisfy anybody with questions as to her unusual choice of clothes.

(There are about three people who will see straight through her, but Ahsoka knows that she won’t _have_ to satisfy their questions. They trust her. Obi-Wan, Anakin and Rex are good like that.)

Her lightsaber is a thrumming energy in her hands, alive with warmth and worry as she holds it instead of clipping it to her belt straight away. It’s not common for a Jedi to walk around the Temple with their lightsaber in their hands, but it’s also not against any rules, so Ahsoka keeps a tight grip on her weapon as she leaves her room and begins the walk to the food hall. She’s not hungry, but it’s her meeting point with Anakin, so she has to go.

Her lightsaber is a valiant defense against the cold that plagues her, but it can’t protect her completely, and Ahsoka’s mouth pulls down into a frown as her arms and chest burn with the prolonged chill. Her fingers, at least, have ceased their incessant shivering.

“Ah, Ahsoka.” She startles at the voice, barely registering Obi-Wan until he reaches her side. “Good morning, dear one.”

He’s smiling at her, as he always does. This morning, Ahsoka is suddenly struck by just how fond that familiar smile is, just how much warmth and care is carefully contained inside those blue, blue eyes. She tries to return the sentiment, tries to copy his smile and inject as much love and respect as she can into it.

Obi-Wan’s smile tightens a little, which means that she’s failed. She settles for a grimace instead and gently nudges her mutual fondness for him along their own tentative bond as an apology. “Good morning, Master Obi-Wan,” she greets lightly. 

“May I walk with you?”

She can’t say no, doesn’t _want_ to say no, but there’s still the urge to recoil from the offer. It’s ridiculous, there’s nothing to be scared of, but she knows that Obi-Wan’s ability to draw the truth out of her is uncanny. If he suspects something is wrong, the walk to the food hall will be unbearable.

Heart in her throat, Ahsoka acquiesces with a nod. 

She’s not usually this apprehensive of Obi-Wan. Well, at least, not anymore. Perhaps towards the beginning, when they hadn’t known each other, she’d been a little more… anxious around him. Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. A legend. Ahsoka had been nothing more than some grubby young apprentice.

It’s different now. People joke that Ahsoka is a Padawan of two Masters, and it’s funny if it isn’t true. She’s Anakin’s Padawan in name, but she and Obi-Wan share a connection through lineage if nothing else. Their bond, sheltered and shaky but vast and unyielding, is uncommon. Neither of them have made particular efforts to talk to the Council about it’s development. 

If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it.

Of course, she has to guard that bond with Obi-Wan a lot more carefully than she has to with the connection she shares with Anakin. Obi-Wan is...different - not good, not bad, just _different_ \- and Ahsoka can’t bring herself to let any sliver of her uncertainty flow over into Obi-Wan’s awareness. She’s stronger than that - she wants him to see her as stronger than that.

Obi-Wan is the perfect Jedi, and Ahsoka is so scared that one day he’ll realise how much _different_ she is to him and give up on her. 

So the walk is tense, despite neither of them saying much of anything. Nobody spares either of them a second glance; curious eyes flicker over Ahsoka’s strange choice in clothing before flicking away again, sidetracked by some other commodity or commotion. Obi-Wan doesn’t make a comment on her outfit, but she can feel him gently tapping along her walls as though he’ll find something that will tell him how to help.

“Is there something you’re waiting for?” She blurts out, stumbling over the words as her anxiety bubbles over. “Something you want to talk about?” Obi-Wan glances over at her, face carefully pleasant, which isn’t an answer.

“Is there something _you_ want to talk about, my dear?” Obi-Wan sounds innocently amused. 

Ahsoka flushes slightly. Well, if Obi-Wan hadn’t sensed anything wrong, then she’s just given herself away anyway. “Not particularly,” she manages in a tight voice, hugging her arms to her stomach. “Just wondering.”

 _Damn_ Obi-Wan and his cleverness. Ahsoka had walked straight into that one, without any prompting or coercing. Clearly, Obi-Wan had worked out that Ahsoka was a nervous talker who couldn’t stand silence. Hence his request to walk with her, and then his subsequent lack of conversation. Lucky enough for her, Anakin hadn’t figured _that_ particular trick out yet.

But what to say? She knows what Obi-Wan will tell her if she tells him the truth. Ahsoka’s knees twinge, the ache in her bones settling in further. She’s still cold. Obi-Wan is waiting for a proper answer, clearly unconvinced with her pathetic attempt to dismiss him.

She sighs. “It’s nothing. I had a bad dream last night and forgot to shield properly. It woke Anakin up.”

There’s a slight hesitation and Ahsoka feels the cold shudder it’s way further down, until it touches her bone marrow. She doesn’t want a lecture, not when she already _knows_ she should be better, but this is Obi-Wan, so really, a lecture is imminent. They’re in a war, yet somehow the Jedi Master can find time for a soft scolding.

She braces, but Obi-Wan simply makes a knowing noise and continues walking. There’s no pressure along the bond; Ahsoka thins her shields enough that Obi-Wan’s gentle acceptance and reassurance can glide through, bringing her a sliver of peace. He’s not angry or offended. Maybe a little worried, like Anakin. But not angry.

He doesn’t think any less of her because of her dreams.

Ahsoka makes sure to lock down her relief before she can swamp Obi-Wan with it; she knows she’s being a little bit difficult - and she knows that Anakin and Obi-Wan both hate secrets - so Obi-Wan’s patience with her feels very similar to a blessing. It’s just as easy to be angry with her for causing undue concern. If Obi-Wan was anybody else, they might not be so calm with each other right now.

But he’s not anybody else, he’s Obi-Wan, and so Ahsoka lets the tension ease out of her body and shifts a little closer to his side. The slightest bit of warmth licks across her shoulder, some of the cold tearing away from her bones and evaporating into her blood. 

She’s very, very far away from being a proper Jedi right now, but somehow, she can’t bring herself to care. She gently tweaks the bond she shares with Obi-Wan, shoving out as much gratitude as she can before thickening her shields again.

There’s a rumble, an echo of feeling bounced back at her as Obi-Wan gently strengthens his own shields. The bond between them goes lax.

“I’m not sure if Anakin’s already told you, but there’s been a slight change to your next mission,” Obi-Wan says lightly. It’s clear that his attempt to strike up casual conversation is an olive branch, extended only after sensing the slightly hysterical taint to Ahsoka’s thanks.

She appreciates it. “We haven’t spoken much about the mission, if I’m completely honest.” Her lips quirk wryly. “We both seem to have dived into this small break.”

Obi-Wan chuckles, a little angrily. “I don’t blame you. War is anything but pleasant.” There’s something to his words that tells Ahsoka that Obi-Wan hadn’t allowed himself to also indulge in the same period of rest. She understands it, and she hadn’t expected him to, but it sends a pang through her heart anyway.

Obi-Wan always pushes himself too hard.

“Well, at least you don’t have to suffer through Anakin’s whining tomorrow,” Ahsoka says cheerily, desperately trying to maintain the easy mood. “He’s always insufferable after we’ve had a break. I think spending time with Senator Amidala gets his blood pressure up too high.”

Obi-Wan snorts, even as shock filters along their bond. “You-”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says, a little quieter now. “Yeah, I know.”

It’s obvious, if you pay enough attention. _Anakin_ is obvious. He tries to hide it, and Ahsoka can’t begrudge him that, but it aches sometimes when her Master looks so obviously in love but can’t bear to open his mouth and say it. When he isn’t _allowed_ to open his mouth and say it. 

There are a lot of things Ahsoka doesn’t agree with, inside the rules of the Jedi Order. Their crippling fear of attachments stings something inside her, and she’s reminded of it every time she watches Anakin watch Padme. 

She’s reminded of it every time she sees Obi-Wan wandering around, tangled in grief for a Master that wasn’t right for him and longing for a woman he could never put first.

Ahsoka doesn’t have many people to be attached to. She supposes that’s rather the point of how she was raised.

“Well.” Obi-Wan clears his throat and smooths a new pleasant expression over his face. Ahsoka tries to do the same, choking down her emotions until the stormy twists in the Force stablise. “I suppose if Anakin’s sulking is so terrible, I’m sure Cody can find a way to ‘accidentally’ lock him in his quarters.”

Ahsoka grins cheekily. “It won’t be Cody’s fault if there’s a problem with the wiring.” She allows herself a moment to picture it. No Anakin storming around, barking orders and complaining about the Jedi. Rex standing by with a self-satisfied smile. Cody-

Cody?

Confusion burbles to life, Ahsoka’s grin freezing and her brows knitting together. Commander Cody isn’t part of the 501st. He’s one of Master Obi-Wan’s men, so why-

Obi-Wan nudges her playfully, clearly sensing the exact moment she figures it all out. “Got room for one more old man?”

“You’re thirty-two, Master, I don’t think that counts as old,” Ahsoka deadpans, despite her excitement.

“Ah, Ahsoka, you flatter me.”

She shakes her head, even as a genuine smile plays about her lips. Missions with Obi-Wan are always more fun and Anakin always seems to be in a better mood. And if Obi-Wan is bringing Cody with him, then Rex won’t be left out either. 

She beams up at her mentor. “Are you bringing the rest of the 212th? I don’t know why you would, given how small scale this mission is, but if you and Cody are coming, then-”

Obi-Wan holds up a hand, cutting her off before her questions can become babble. Ahsoka flushes, even as her mouth clicks shut obediently. “Master Windu informed me that only Cody, Kix and I are transferring across for this particular incident. The rest of the 212th are currently being integrated into Master Plo Koon’s battalion until we return.”

It’s an odd arrangement, and one that very rarely takes place. Shifting General Obi-Wan Kenobi from his position in charge of his men is one thing, and sometimes necessary. But moving the Commander and chief medical clone as well is a great risk. As is inflating another Battalion’s troop numbers without reimbursing supplies at the same time.

Realistically, Ahsoka knows that this means the Council is expecting this mission to go horribly wrong. 

In the moment, she’s too eager about the idea to really care. “The _Twilight_ will be happy to have you, Master,” she says.

“Master Windu spoke of the _Empress_ , young one, not the _Twilight_.”

“The _Empress_?”

Concern creeps further up her throat. Bringing in more Command Officers is one thing, but changing ships is something entirely different. She’s honestly surprised that Anakin hasn’t said anything to her yet; Force knows he loves to bitch and moan about sudden, unnecessary changes. 

(He likes to bitch and moan about the Council’s lack of faith too, but that has a bit more substance to it. Ahsoka finds that she agrees with some of the things he says, so she’s not sure that counts.)

If his usual snarkiness is irritable, tomorrow’s mission will be unbearable. Maybe she’ll assist Cody in his accident. Locking Anakin in his room won’t be a permanent fix, but it might give them all a breather. She loves her Master dearly, but he isn’t the most pleasant person to be around some of the time. The Council might say something about Dark Side emotions, but Ahsoka just says it’s Anakin being Anakin. It’s a trait she’s learned to love.

“Do you think Anakin knows about that particular detail?” Obi-Wan asks jovially. The pulse of amusement that flickers along their bond tells Ahsoka that he already knows the answer.

Merely because she can’t pass up an opportunity to tease Anakin, she answers, “Skyguy never pays much attention to the missive, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he shows up to the _Twilight_ tomorrow.” She’s half tempted to record it. “Does he know about you tagging along?”

Obi-Wan inclines his head. “He wasn’t quite as visibly pleased as you, but I did sense that he was satisfied with the arrangement.”

Of course he’s _satisfied_. Anakin loves nothing more than fighting side-by-side with his old Master. Ahsoka sees the look on his face when he and Obi-Wan work together. Jedi might not be allowed to have attachments, but her Master’s very sense of being is wound so tightly around Obi-Wan that to keep them apart is almost cruel. She thinks it’s adorable. It makes her happy to see Anakin happy, and after Padme, Obi-Wan is Anakin’s family. 

She considers whooping at the prospect of completing another mission with Obi-Wan, but it’s probably too improper for the Temple, so she resigns herself to an excited jump. “This is going to be _awesome_ ,” she yelps - a little too loudly, if the strange looks she gets from the others in the hallway are anything to go by. Obi-Wan doesn’t reprimand her though, simply goes along with her excitement with little more than an unbearably fond flick of their bond. 

Her dream feels so far away now - like a dusty memory that lingers just past the reach of her fingers. She doesn’t bother stretching any further for it. The cold that plagues her is still there, but muted, pushed down and buried under the pure joy that Obi-Wan brings her.

Secretly, she wonders if that had been Obi-Wan’s plan the whole time. Not to force the truth out of her, but to ease the burden on her shoulders. Even the Force seems lighter around them, dancing and swirling around her mental shields in a way that’s not unlike a cat. 

Everyone is content, just for the moment.

They reach the food halls without any problems, opening the door while deep in conversation about Ahsoka’s reverse grip. Obi-Wan is pointing out some mild flaws and prompting her to cultivate a way to fix the problems. It’s really quite helpful. Ahsoka almost feels like a normal Padawan.

“You have the unfortunate weakness of balance,” Obi-Wan says as they find a spot along the wall to stand and wait for Anakin. “With your grip the way that it is, a solid hit could very well knock your ‘saber out of your hands completely, or force it back onto your arm and cause injury.”

“Reverse grip has better stability than the regular grip,” she argues lightly. “Besides, normal lightsabers have the same kind of problem. You guys usually just use your other hand for more strength.”

Obi-Wan considers the point carefully before taking a hold of his own lightsaber. He doesn’t turn it on, simply holding the hilt out as though physically marking out the debate. “Look here,” he says, flipping the hilt around until he has it in a reverse grip. He adds a second hand, the posture looking stiff and unnatural. “If you had to add power with your other hand in a defensive situation, there’s only so much room you have. And then trying to fight with both hands holding the hilt like this is very difficult.”

Ahsoka purses her lip, assessing the lightsaber. She can see exactly what Obi-Wan is talking about, but she’s not willing to give up on it just yet. There’s another option - one that she’s brought up to Anakin once before, only to be turned down - but she doesn’t know how Obi-Wan would react to such a suggestion.

Obi-Wan gestures to her own un-lit ‘saber. “What are you thinking, young one?” 

Ahsoka grips the hilt a little tighter subconsciously, still keeping her focus on Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. “Would you-” She falters and clears her throat, glancing back at her own hilt and twirling it between her palms. Chills tickles her fingertips. She swallows, but doesn’t dare raise her eyes to meet Obi-Wan’s. “Would you be willing to teach me to wield dual lightsabers?”

See, the thing is, it’s not something uncommon for the Jedi.

Padawans are sometimes trained to wield two lightsabers, either for practicality or preference, but Ahsoka’s never been entirely sure she’d be allowed. Anakin had told her that there wasn’t time for learning such a technique, not yet, but the more she dwells on Obi-Wan’s suggestions, the more she realises that it’s the only way to rectify the strength displacement in her grip.

Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything for a long moment, simply clipping his lightsaber back to his belt. She can feel him studying her, and obediently thins her shields enough to let a tendril of his presence inside her most shallow thoughts. The Force rumbles comfortingly.

She doesn’t know what Obi-Wan is looking for. If she can figure that out, then maybe she can think the right things, project the right feelings, and he’ll agree. She desperately wants him to agree.

She’ll understand if he doesn’t.

She winces away from the hand that reaches for her, but Obi-Wan simply lifts her chin gently with a finger until she’s forced to meet his eyes. The blue hue is brighter than usual, sharpened with promise and fierce pride. She blinks owlishly at him.

“My dear girl,” Obi-Wan says, “don’t ever hesitate to ask for training. You need not fear rejection. You are a Padawan and I am a Master. That is a vow in and of itself.”

It settles the unease roiling in her stomach, that’s true, but Ahsoka can feel something else in her chest lurch and drop. She doesn’t want to be taught merely because Obi-Wan feels he has to. That’s the opposite of what it is she wants.

She just wants him to be proud of her, and that will come only if he _wants_ to train her. It’s hard to conjure pride for something you did not want.

“Sorry,” she mutters.

Obi-Wan tsks softly, reaching with his other hand to curl around her fingers, holding her lightsaber as tightly as she can lest it’s taken away from her. “Ahsoka.” His face is impossibly earnest. “It would be my honour to train you in dual lightsaber wielding.”

She can tell that she’s troubled him with her sudden insecurity. He swipes a thumb across her cheek before letting both of his hands drop; Ahsoka takes an extra moment before she clips her lightsaber to her belt. The lack of weight in her hand makes her fingers twitch.

Her and Obi-Wan stand in silence for a little more, not quite tense, but not at ease either. She’s given too much away just then, and Obi-Wan is taking the chance to think it over, analyse her behaviours and muted emotions. 

Ahsoka is a little scared about what he might find if he looks hard enough.

She scans the hall for Anakin, tugging on the bond between them softly to get his attention. _‘You here, Skyguy?’_

A tingle of acknowledgment threads back to her, dull and staticky. He’s got his shields up much tighter than usual. But he’s coming - he’s almost there, really, Ahsoka can sense his Force signature - so she turns to Obi-Wan and allows herself to study him _back_.

He looks as put-together as ever, having clearly set aside some time to groom himself properly. His lightsaber gleams; it’s been recently cleaned and polished. His robes are clean and new, his eyes are bright and alert. He looks every inch the Jedi Master she knows him to be. 

But there’s something else to him, an element of age that she’s never associated with him before. He’s not an old Master. He’s not an old Jedi. He’s not _old_. Yet age lingers around the creases between his eyebrows, remnants of a heavy frown. His lips are thinner, and there are strained lines around his eyes. Subtle differences, but differences nonetheless.

There’s a short burst of movement over by the door as Anakin enters and instinctively heads their way. Ahsoka takes careful note of the way that Obi-Wan straightens more, even though he hadn’t been slouching. 

“Anakin,” he greets warmly, smiling. “Good morning.”

“Good to see you, Obi-Wan,” Anakin responds, sounding downright cheerful. Ahsoka is immediately suspicious. “Snips, good to see you too. How are you this morning?”

Ah. So that’s his play. It’s cunning, if not a little basic for the circumstances. Well, nobody ever claimed Anakin was subtle, and he’s definitely Obi-Wan’s student. 

Ahsoka pulls her lips away from her teeth, grinning a little too sharply. Anakin meets her eyes challengingly. “I’m feeling pretty good,” she says, enunciating every word as pointedly as she can. “How about you?”

She can feel Obi-Wan’s amusement even through her shields. She bats it away half-heartedly, only to find amusement seeping in from Anakin as well.

Her Master winks and exaggerates a stretch. “I’m doing great. Ready to tackle some new challenges.” 

Ahsoka scoffs, but before she can say anything else, Obi-Wan clears his throat politely and gives them both a Look. Anakin settles immediately. Ahsoka can feel both bonds in her chest flatten out and steady and she adjusts herself to match, gathering up her excess energy and giving it away to the Force.

“Nice to see you in such a good mood,” Obi-Wan says to Anakin, who only puffs his cheeks out and shrugs innocently. Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I see what you mean about ‘insufferable,’ little one.”

Ahsoka muffles her giggle as Anakin’s smile immediately slips into a scowl. “Seriously?” He complains. “Both of you? I mean, I expected it from Snips, but you too Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan somehow manages to look playfully disappointed. “If you truly didn’t expect that of me, then I fear I failed as your Master. You should know better, Anakin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Anakin grumbles, waving a hand. “You’re a smartass, I get it.”

“You really should watch the way you talk to other people, Anakin, respect goes a long way.”

“Obi-Wan, I swear-”

“Anger is not the Jedi way, Padawan.”

“Obi-Wan-”

“Oh, how obvious it is to me now. There are a great many things I missed in my time as your teacher.”

“I hate you.”

“Hate is not the-”

“Not the Jedi way, _I get it_.”

“It’s very rude to cut people off, Anakin.”

“ _Snips_ ,” Anakin pleads, turning to her rather dramatically. “Make him stop.”

Sure, Ahsoka _could_ make Obi-Wan stop the teasing, but the thing is, she doesn’t _want_ to. Anakin can only stare in horrified defeat as Ahsoka gives Obi-Wan a nod and then crosses her arms and _waits_.

Except Obi-Wan doesn’t keep going, instead choosing mercy. “I think we’ll be just fine tomorrow,” he says serenely, nudging Ahsoka slightly. Anakin groans something, but neither of them acknowledge him. “Now, I do have to go check in with Cody and Kix, and then check up on the rest of the 212th, so I’ll leave you with your Master. Please do make sure he gets to the right ship in the morning.”

Anakin makes some kind of offended huffing sound, but Ahsoka ignores him as she bids Obi-Wan a mental goodbye along their bond. He responds with a slight pinch of fondness before he nods at her and Anakin both and sweeps away, forever graceful. 

Anakin grumbles beside her as they both wait until Obi-Wan has definitely left the food hall before attempting any conversation between themselves. “You’ve offended me, Snips,” Anakin says, tweaking the bond between them. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “I like to pick the winning side, what can I say?”

An unidentifiable emotion flutters against her shields at that, something slightly darker than she’s used to. She tries to capture it, lure it behind her thinned shields, but the unfamiliar feeling skitters away, back to Anakin. Ahsoka doesn’t bother chasing it. The Force’s constant humming drops down in pitch. Goosebumps crawl along her arms. 

She’s still cold, cold, cold.

“Do you want to talk about last night or is it going to be one of those things we pretend didn’t happen?” Anakin asks after another pause, tone measured but not pressuring. Ahsoka knows what he wants of her, but if she chooses the other option, he won’t be mad. 

She curls the cuffs of her jumper into a small ball in her palms, hiding her hands in the sleeves. “Just a bad dream.”

Anakin blinks at the wall, being very careful not to stare directly at her lest he cause her any stress. He’s considerate like that. His mouth twists to the side in a funny little spasm before he nods jerkily. The bond between them rattles. Ahsoka steadies it with a gentle whisper of peace.

“Have you had breakfast yet?” Anakin asks, letting the topic of last night drop, albeit reluctantly. He wants her to tell him about it, she can see it in the way his fingers twitch and jump at his sides.

She lets the topic drop too. “I haven’t, but I’m not hungry.”

“We’ve been over this before, Snips. Hungry or not, it’s important to eat whenever you can. You don’t know when you might need the energy.”

It’s a familiar gospel. If there’s one thing she hadn’t ever expected from the great General Anakin Skywalker, it’s him preaching about eating. Who knew the Chosen One was so adamant about food consumption?

But this morning is _different_ for Ahsoka. The cold may have waned slightly, but she’s still freezing despite her clothes, and no matter what she tries, she can still taste dust in her mouth. Eating, or at least trying to eat, may just tip her over the edge. Throwing up is bad enough, but throwing up in front of Anakin might actually just kill her dignity. 

She tries to push some of that agonised desperation along the bond, knocking on Anakin’s shields until he thins them enough that she can usher the feeling through to him. Her Master takes a moment to sort through the mess before accepting it and gently nudging her back along the bond.

“Alright,” he says softly, dropping a hand on her shoulder. Ahsoka can’t help the involuntary wince. “We’ll work on getting ready for the mission tomorrow instead.”

Ahsoka reels herself back in, thickening her shields almost to the point of insanity. The Force around her wavers and coos in sadness. “Master Obi-Wan wasn’t sure you got the update about changing ships,” she says casually, as if she isn’t feeling unusually light on her feet. “We’re on the _Empress_ tomorrow, not the _Twilight_.”

Anakin frowns, irritation creeping onto his face. “Of course we are,” he mutters. “Do we know why?”

Ahsoka shrugs. Anakin curses.

Things go on.

~

Ahsoka doesn’t sleep through the night.

It’s expected but still disorineting when she blinks open her eyes, bed dipping and swaying underneath her body. She feels like she’s spinning, out of control. Her eyes can’t focus on anything in particular. Everything is dizzy. 

She strains for something inside her to hold onto, but her bond with Anakin feels so faint and far away tonight, and her fingers miss it by a smidge. She slips back into a dive, falling down inside her own thoughts as her bed twirls. There’s a headache tangled in there somewhere too - a thumping pressure right across her temple that constricts with every rocking wave of unbalance.

The Force shivers around her, it’s helplessness barely more than a keening whisper as Ahsoka grapples with herself. Her shields are too strong for Anakin to sense her again, which brings her both vast relief and a crushing disappointment. Nobody’s coming for her tonight. She only has herself to rely on.

Except that she doesn’t. 

Her connection with Obi-Wan warms up, extending like a sun’s rays during a lazy afternoon. Ahsoka can feel Obi-Wan’s presence twine around her own Force signature - not a demand, but an offer. He’ll catch her, if she’ll let him.

 _‘Easy,’_ he murmurs soothingly as Ahsoka scrambles to latch onto him. _‘Go slowly. You’ll be okay.’_

There’s something distinctly embarrassing about losing control of herself like this, Ahsoka thinks, even as Obi-Wan very gently holds her still as the rest of her world keeps on spinning. She feels useless and weak, unable to control even a simple dream. It’s not proper Jedi behaviour.

 _Ahsoka_ isn’t a proper Jedi, it seems.

Obi-Wan’s worry is a living thing, wandering the bond between them as they begin setting Ahsoka’s energy to rights. The Force dances around them, rippling and familiar, but unable to interfere. _‘There’s no shame in bad dreams, dear one,’_ Obi-Wan rumbles.

Ahsoka flushes, pulling enough of her consciousness back to her body that she can sit up in her bed, leaning back against the headboard. _‘My reaction might have been a little dramatic.’_

Obi-Wan hums noncommittally. _‘Anakin said you did not eat much today. If you factor in severe emotional distress as well, I believe you’ll find that your reaction comes from low blood pressure, not lack of control.’_

Well, that’s mortifying. 

Ahsoka groans, moving her still-trembling hands to cover her face. Last time, with Anakin, had been bad enough. This is worse. This is infinitely worse. Obi-Wan has far better things to do than nurse a young, stupid Padawan back to sleep. Especially the night before a mission. How can she bear to look him in the face tomorrow?

She’s started being a Padawan young, she knows that. A war is no place for a child, she knows that. Anakin hadn’t wanted her, _she knows that._

But she’s here anyway. She’s here and she’s causing trouble. They have a mission tomorrow, and she’s distracting their best General with measly dreams and low blood pressure. Guilt swells in her chest, putting a strange pressure on her throat.

_‘Ahsoka.’_

Getting out of bed is a slow process, but Ahsoka manages it, reaching out for the darkened wall as she stumbles her way to the kitchen. She’s hot, and her clothes stick to her skin. Whatever cold had been dogging her steps has vaporised, and now steam is trapped under her flesh. She’s going to boil from the inside out.

The kitchen is only slightly lighter than the bedroom, but Ahsoka doesn’t bother stopping to turn on the light. She heads straight for the tap, fumbling with a glass until it’s filled with enough water. Drinking it reminds her of gargling glass, and the heat under her skin doesn’t die off, but some of the pressure eases.

 _‘Best eat some food if you can, little one,’_ Obi-Wan says lightly. _‘If you bring your blood pressure back up, you’ll feel better about his whole situation.’_

Ahsoka can’t understand why he’s so calm and measured. Surely this has to be a drag for him - Force knows that she’s already humiliated by literally everything right now - and yet, she can sense no anger from him. No reluctance. He’s quite content to stay connected with her until she feels that she’s okay on her own. 

Something whispers that this is how it should be. 

Ahsoka busies herself with grabbing something that resembles food and ignores that voice.

_‘I am on my way to you, Padawan. Are you okay with that? I sense that Anakin is not in your quarters and I am reluctant to have you on your own.’_

She considers the question carefully. _Does_ she want Obi-Wan here? She doesn’t want to be alone, but she’s no longer a youngling. She shouldn’t need supervision or coddling. She’s a Jedi Padawan, and she’s killed people, and she’s strong. She’s fought in a war.

She sends Obi-Wan a very small, _‘Yes please.’_

It’s uncomfortably close to surrender.

She busies herself with brewing some hot water, gathering two chipped cups from the cupboards and gathering Obi-Wan’s favourite tea. He’s visited her and Anakin often enough that they always have a small tin full of it in anticipation. Sometimes she catches Anakin staring at it with something close to remorse plastered on his face.

Her skin itches and sizzles - memories of falling make her teeth grind against each other. She’d died before in dreams. She’d died as recently as last night, but something about this particular sensation has unsettled her. Maybe it’s the lack of a landing. She’d woken up without having hit the ground.

So had she stopped falling at all?

The Force croons in her ear, rustling gently as it pushes at her shoulder. Her shields flicker in response. Obi-Wan’s presence crests along their bond immediately, reactive peace washing through her like water. 

So intuitive, even now. So quick to give comfort, so quick to ensure that Ahsoka’s burdens are not hers alone to bear. 

Ahsoka grips tightly to that feeling of calm, pulling it down into her stomach and holding it there until the fires stop raging in her veins. She’s alive, and Obi-Wan is coming for her. She will be found. She won’t be alone tonight. 

And maybe she can even convince Obi-Wan not to tell Anakin.

There’s a polite knock at the door; it’s not necessary, because Obi-Wan can enter on his own, but Ahsoka appreciates that he allows her the decision. If she were to change her mind about having him here, he would turn away, no questions asked.

She opens the door.

Obi-Wan doesn’t look particularly dishevelled. His robes are pressed and clean and his hair is neatly combed back. For all intents and purposes, he looks every inch the regal Jedi Master he is. But if Ahsoka peers closely, looking with the Force and with her eyes, she can see the darkening smear of exhaustion. 

Obi-Wan’s skin is pale, pigment fleeing from him as he pushes himself harder and harder. His Force signature is grand but pale, like it’s a lightshow that’s wearing too thin. He’s projecting strength, but that strength is waning. Soon, he’ll be fooling nobody.

Soon, he’ll be in a warzone again, and nobody will have the chance to care.

She tries a cracked grin, feeling it split across her mouth. “Master Kenobi,” she greets properly, bowing her head. “Thank you for coming.”

“Anything for you, my dear,” Obi-Wan says, voice warm. He gestures. “Are you sure you’re alright with my presence here? If you’re uncomfortable with company, simply say and I’ll leave you to your peace.”

Ahsoka steps away from the doorway and sweeps her arm in the universal motion for him to enter. “No, please. Come in. I’m just finishing getting the tea ready.”

“I see Anakin could learn a thing or two from you.”

Ahsoka’s lips curl up as she leaves Obi-Wan to settle down in the living room, returning to the kitchen and the cups of tea. There’s something so inherently soothing about Obi-Wan’s mere _existence_ \- he simply has to breathe to set a person more at ease. Ahsoka supposes that’s why he’s such a good negotiator. 

Neither of them bother with shouting across rooms, and Ahsoka doesn’t dare touch their bond. It feels tender, raw almost, as if it’s not strong enough for their constant use. It still needs nurturing. 

(It’s not a training bond, she has to remember that. It needs work to build it up, and then it needs more work to keep it healthy. Both sides have to want it.)

(Ahsoka isn’t entirely sure that Obi-Wan _does_.)

She carries the cups of tea with trembling hands, passing one to Obi-Wan before settling beside him on the couch. She doesn’t drink hers, simply stares down into the swirling liquid blankly, all too aware of how warm she still is. How dizzy. How tired.

“You aren’t sleeping.” 

Obi-Wan’s voice is subdued, hushed by the dim lights and solemn atmosphere. He’s not asking her a question, but there’s something in his tone that prompts her to give him an answer.

“I keep dreaming of dying,” she confesses breathily, holding her tea cup tighter. The Force withers around her. “Each night it’s different, but I just keep _dying_ , and I-” She cuts herself off with a sip of tea. It’s hot - hotter than hot. She’s burning her mouth, her tongue. She hisses under her breath. “It’s just bad dreams.”

Obi-Wan takes a drink of his own tea, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on some mattered mess of an art piece that Anakin had insisted on hanging on the wall. “Do you feel that they’re visions?”

How can she admit that they aren’t? Saying it outloud seems to diminish the whole situation. Guilt creeps over her skin, cloaking her in a suit of cloying heat and shame. “No,” she says sadly, tapping a fingernail against her cup. “I don’t think they are.”

Just dreams.

Just bad dreams.

Obi-Wan drains the last of his tea - Ahsoka hadn’t even noticed him drink it so quickly - and places it on the small table in front of them. She braces when he turns to her. He has the look on his face that usually means she’s done something wrong and he has another lesson to teach. She averts her eyes and waits for the lecture.

Unintrusive hands very gently lift the cup out of her shaking hands and set it on the table. A gentle finger gently tilts her chin up; it’s a movement so intrinsically familiar to her that she follows it immediately.

Obi-Wan’s blue eyes are impossibly soft and caring, and Ahsoka finds she can’t look away from the naked affection she sees. “Sometimes bad dreams are bad dreams,” Obi-Wan tells her. “But they don’t have to be visions to mean something.”

“They’re just dreams,” she argues.

“And often, our dreams are manifestations of a deeper anxiety. Are you afraid of dying, Ahsoka?”

Is she?

Ahsoka Tano is a girl who grew up in a galaxy at war. She’s a girl who was apprenticed to a too-young Jedi Knight in the middle of a war. She’s fought, and she’s killed, and she’s lost too many people to count. She’s the Jedi who let an innocent girl fall to her death, dying on a planet that didn’t care about her. 

Ahsoka remembers her name. Her name had been Steela.

So Ahsoka can comfortably say that she’s not afraid of death. She lives in and around death, feels it every day when she allows the vibrations of the Force to pierce her mind. She’s submerged in death every day when she and Rex and Anakin and the rest of their battalion fight and fall in battle.

But dying is something else.

She blinks at Obi-Wan. “Does it make me weak if I say yes?” 

Something in those blue eyes sadden, even as Obi-Wan moves from gently holding her chin up to placing a palm against her cheek. It’s such a fatherly action that Ahsoka’s breath catches in her chest and her throat tightens. This is attachment. 

This is against everything she’s been taught.

“Oh little one,” Obi-Wan murmurs heavily, suddenly sounding very worn down and old. “Sometimes I forget how young you are. You’re but a child, and already you’ve been through more hardships than most adults could ever imagine.”

Usually, the reference to her age would make her bristle. She’s always had to fight those comments, as though her age is some sort of slight against the Jedi life. Because she’s too young for battle, too young to be a Jedi, too young for a Master and responsibilities.

Obi-Wan says it in a way that tames her usual anger and transforms it into a blessing. 

“I just want to do the right thing,” Ahsoka says, leaning into the parental touch a little more. She’s still warm, and Obi-Wan’s hand is cool. “I want to be a good Jedi. I want to be strong.”

Obi-Wan hums, drawing his hand away and shuffling on the couch until they’re both huddled against pillows. Their connection ripples with their shared exhaustion. “Anakin would not sleep by himself for several years once he became my Padawan,” he begins. “He joined us so late in his young life that he’d already grown attachments. His mother was usually the subject of his night terrors, but often he would dream of my old Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Sometimes he’d even dream of me.”

“Anakin?” Ahsoka frowns. “But he seems so...big, you know?” Anakin always seems to stand tall and strong amongst everybody else, never wavering, never crumbling. Just going on and on and on.

Obi-Wan tweaks their bond. “He dreamed of loss. Almost every night, he would dream of losing someone or something. Sometimes, those dreams were tinged with the Force - visions, though neither of us knew it then. And those dreams led him to do terrible things.” He pauses, something heavier than grief weighing his next words down. “Sometimes bad dreams are just bad dreams, but bad dreams can do bad things to good people.”

Ahsoka presses a spare cushion to her chest, cuddling it tightly as she curls her legs up underneath her. It makes sense if she really thinks about it. Anakin’s already so passionate, so driven by his feelings. 

_‘Bad dreams can do bad things to good people.’_

Is she one of those good people? She doesn’t feel like it sometimes. She just feels small and scared and young. 

“Do you ever dream, Master?” She asks hesitantly, tangling her hand in their bond in an attempt to monitor every small fluctuation in Obi-Wan’s emotions. She can learn from this.

Except Obi-Wan doesn’t hide from her. Bleak amusement, stitched together with some sort of dark misery, filters through to her. “Ahsoka, my dear, everybody dreams.” Obi-Wan’s voice is flat. “It’s simply a matter of who remembers.”

~

Anakin is so antsy he could actually be in danger of vibrating out of his skin, which would be both incredibly disgusting and absolutely horrifying.

Obi-Wan keeps a steady pace and presence by his side, but the finger tapping against his lightsaber betrays his own nerves. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says without glancing at Anakin. “Ahsoka is okay.”

Anakin scoffs. “No she’s not.”

Obi-Wan clearly wants to say something to that, maybe something about patience or attachments, but instead his shoulders slump. His Jedi facade dissolves under his own heavy worry. 

Anakin is not the only one who loves Ahsoka like family.

“No,” he sighs, “I suppose she isn’t.”

Anakin wants to shout and rage, stomp his foot like he’s ten-years-old again and demand that his old Master stop being so vague and _fix the problem_. He wants to, but he doesn’t, because there’s something in Obi-Wan’s eyes: a kind of tired, bitter grief that says maybe Obi-Wan doesn’t have all the answers.

Which makes two of them, because Anakin doesn’t have the first clue about how to handle this problem. He’s not a Master, he’s barely even a Knight. He doesn’t know what to _do_.

“Why won’t she come to me about this?” He asks desperately. “These dreams are hurting her, and I can help!”

Maybe. Hopefully. He’ll try, at least.

Obi-Wan levels him with a considering look, taking his hand away from his lightsaber and tucking his arms into the sleeves of his robe, like Master Qui-Gon used to. It’s a classic Obi-Wan tell - he only ever tucks his arms away like that if he’s deeply troubled. Anakin used to hate it, used to chafe at the raw reminder of a dead man.

Now, Anakin just ses it as another wound on Obi-Wan’s soul, weeping pain and loss.

“Can you honestly tell me that you wanted to come to me when you had bad dreams as a Padawan?” Obi-Wan asks. The question is asked mildly, but there’s an undercurrent of sadness to his tone that gives Anakin pause.

He considers the question carefully. 

No, is the right answer. No, Anakin had refused to confide in Obi-Wan, even in more dire circumstances. He’d shut it all away, pushed it deep inside himself until the bond between them had gone stagnate and dead. Thinking of it now, he can clearly recognise it as foolish pride and fearful possession. 

The dreams, no matter how bad they got, were _his_.

Obi-Wan sighs heavily. “That’s what I thought. Anakin, Ahsoka is troubled by her perceived slights against the Jedi Code. I fear that she’s holding onto these dreams as failures, and this is weakening her spirit.”

Ahsoka is many things, Anakin knows this. She is headstrong, and empathetic, and eager, and willing to do all that she can to help. She is not weak. But she is overly self-critical, and she’s afraid of the wrong things.

Anakin has only aided in her unhealthy habits, because he has those very same habits. Damage nutures damage, and the cycle begins anew.

“I’m ruining her,” he says very quietly.

Obi-Wan’s distress resonates along the bond. Anakin welcomes it and holds onto it for a little while, allowing it to morph with his own dissatisfied heartache. “No,” Obi-Wan says firmly. “You and Ahsoka have one of the strongest bonds I’ve seen. You aren’t ruining her, you’re teaching her.”

“But she’s hurting. This just proves she doesn’t trust you.”

“Anakin, this proves that she loves you.”

Love is a four letter word that describes an abstract concept that Anakin has agonised over for too many years while he was a slave on Tatooine. Love has always been something unattainable, something that was only ever constant with his mother. Love is something that Anakin hoards.

Love is something that Anakin had not expected or demanded from his Padawan. 

Perhaps that’s why he’s received it.

He meets Obi-Wan’s eyes helplessly, splaying his hands why as he stops walking. “What am I supposed to do?” He’s not begging, not pleading. He’s just...lost. “How do I help?”

Obi-Wan’s smile is wan. “Wait.”

~

The fire starts slowly, clicking up Ahsoka’s leg lazily as she strains against whatever invisible bindings render her immobile. It doesn’t hiss and spit; the flames are silent as they trail along her bared skin. Instead of the crackle of fire, Ahsoka is haunted by a sweet thrumming hum, familiar in it’s loathing.

The _Empress_ has followed her into her dreams.

The fire creeps higher, scorching up along her stomach and torso. Ahsoka clenches her jaw, voice trapped in her throat by the same energy that’s pinning her to the ground. The pain isn’t sharp, but it’s building and getting heavier, like a strange pressure that only needs a little bit more of a push to break skin.

The fire slices higher, up over her collarbones, her jaw, her cheeks. Heavier and heavier, hotter and hotter. Ahsoka still can’t move. She gasps, jerking involuntarily as the fire scrapes over her eyes and ears, threading along her lips. She’s fully engulfed now. She takes a shuddering breath and reaches for the Force.

The fire erupts into agony.

The scream that’s torn from her throat is tattered and ragged, flecked with bloody terror as agony shreds across her body. The fire burns hotter and brighter, the razor-sharp edge cutting deep into her flesh. 

Ahsoka loses touch with herself for a moment, losing herself to the boiling pain and the low thrumming of the _Empress_. It almost sounds like the ship is purring. 

Ahsoka howls, the bindings melting away from her, allowing her to thrash and writhe as her body burns. She can feel her skin bubble slightly, giving way to the seething flames. She’s going to die here, she can feel it lingering, but it won’t be a swift and merciful death. No, the _Empress_ wants her to suffer first.

And suffer she will. 

It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts-

Something touches her blistered shoulder and she screams again, arching away from the abrasive friction. The fire roils and cackles, burning her eyes and melting away her will and-

_‘Ahsoka-’_

It _hurts_ -

Her screams get higher, bleeding into hysterical wails as it somehow gets hotter and more painful-

_‘Snips-’_

Something touches her again and her voice cuts out, taken from her by the sheer torture of the fire. Her body goes limp, unable to fight the inevitable. She wants death, longs for it in a way that only the sick and dying could long for it.

Because she is. Dying.

The _Empress_ continues humming inside her head, easily blocking out the sound of someone calling her name. She can’t get away from the fire - she can’t even escape into death. She is simply fated to suffer here, tormented by fire and pain.

The knowledge is almost peaceful. She can’t fight it because there’s nothing to fight. This is where she will stay, roasting alive. She will forever be a beacon, burning bright in some wasteland where nobody will ever find her. 

_‘Ashoka Tano, you aren’t leaving me just yet.’_

She jolts at the familiar voice. It cuts through the pain and the _Empress_ , and twists around her heart. She should know this voice, recognise it. She reaches for it curiously, her fingers brushing the presence with barely a whisper.

The fire intensifies and a choked cry is wrenched from her. The _Empress_ hums louder.

_‘Ahsoka, no. Listen to me. It’s not real. Ahsoka.’_

That _voice_. 

Ahsoka heaves a shuddering breath, gathering her shattered will one last time and gritting her teeth against the pain and the fire. If she’s going to die, she’s going to do it her way. And it won’t be here, burned to ashes and alone. The _Empress_ stops humming.

Ahsoka holds her ruined spirit in scarred hands and taps on the voice, following the link into a quiet darkness where there is no pain or heat or fire. 

“-oka? Ahsoka, dear one, can you hear me?”

She gradually becomes aware of her body, whole and unburdened by burns. Hands are hovering over her, hesitant to touch. She groans lightly, and a second voice lets out a relieved curse. A palm descends on her forehead and she makes a soft noise of protest, her voice raw and her throat ruined.

“Hey Snips,” the second voice says thickly, and the palm on her forehead shifts. She winces. “You’re okay. Obi-Wan and I are here, okay? You’re alright.”

The voice…

Ahsoka desperately tries to peel her eyes open, tears building under her eyelids and escaping down her smooth cheeks. She’s unblemished. Unwounded. Whole. There isn’t any fire, and there isn’t any heat, and whatever remnants of pain she’s carried with her from her dream is dulled and unobtrusive.

“A’kin,” she slurs, squinting at the dark blobs by her side. “Ob’Wn.”

Someone gently grabs her hand. “Hello dear one.” Ah, Obi-Wan.

Their two bonds are alight inside her chest, familiar and comforting as she fights against herself. She can feel their naked worry and panic and fear, and she knows that they can feel her in return. She wonders if that’s what drew them to her. 

She wonders if they’d been burning too.

“S’rry.”

Obi-Wan’s hand tightens around her’s. Anakin’s gentle touch on her forehead slips down to brush against her cheek. “Don’t apologise,” her Master scolds softly. “You can’t control your dreams.”

No, that’s not what she’s sorry for. She’s sorry for worrying them, for bringing them to her room in the middle of a mission, for not maintaining her shields. She’s sorry for being too weak. She’s sorry for...for not being a Jedi.

 _‘Dear one, there is no shame in needing help and comfort.’_ Obi-Wan’s presence wraps around her own, supporting her own traumatised spirit. _‘Even the strongest Jedi cannot bear this burden alone.’_

Anakin’s energy joins in too, emitting a warm, healing light for Ahsoka to bask in. “We’re always going to be here for you, Snips,” he promises earnestly. “I’m never going to walk away from you.”

He won’t - Ahsoka can feel that truth ripple and expand in the Force. Anakin will never turn his back on her, never abandon her to a desolate life without him. She can sense that vow mirrored in Obi-Wan, and surrenders herself to their comfort for as long as she can bear it.

Somewhere, where the Force is barren and mangled, there’s the crackle of a lightsaber as the future rewrites itself.


End file.
